


Polarity Reversal

by lyricwritesprose



Series: Female Doctor Experiments [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: And a fairly outdated experiment now, Experiment, Gen, Still might be interesting, Unfinished, fragment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricwritesprose/pseuds/lyricwritesprose
Summary: This is a sample from the first time I ever tried writing a female Doctor (by writing a male scenario first and then changing it).  I include both takes here.  This was never intended to be expanded into a larger story, but rather to help me nail down what makes an introduction "Doctor-y."





	1. Male

**Author's Note:**

> People who are looking for completed or polished stories might want to look past this one; it's purely an experiment. More precisely, it's an experiment that I did before Jodie Whittaker was even announced, to prove to myself that a female Doctor could be written with much the same energy and weirdness as a male Doctor.
> 
> I would say it's successful, but it also taught me that you tend to overthink things a bit more with a female Doctor. For instance, say you decide that this particular Doctor will have a gag where they offer people sweets (like Four) but it's always really weird stuff that nobody is quite sure they want to eat. With a male Doctor, you just try to decide if that's a good gag or a stupid gag. With a female Doctor, you find yourself wondering if you're accidentally stating something subtle about the Doctor not really being the Doctor because she isn't producing the iconic jelly babies, and before you know it, you've tied yourself in knots—over a single joke. So, looking back at it, doing this gave me a newfound respect for the writers of Series 11 and an understanding that they made it look easier than it probably was.
> 
> The first chapter is the male version. The second chapter will be the female version.

The tube car sat neatly in the middle of an alpine meadow. Alison looked around at the stunned, frightened faces, heart sinking. She didn't want to be the first one to speak. If she spoke up, people might start to look to her for solutions, and she didn't have any. But she was the only person who didn't seem slightly shocky, and she read enough conspiracy theorists and fringe whackos to have some notion of how much trouble they were in. "All right. Anyone injured?"

The general consensus was a muttered no, with several _where are we's_ in the mix. It wasn't something Alison could answer, so she ignored the questions until a middle aged woman looked alarmed, pointed over her shoulder, and said, "What's _he_ doing?"

Alison turned around and blinked, several times.

If David Bowie's younger, more ginger brother had attempted to dress up as Dracula but somehow ended up in purple velvet, he would bear a haunting resemblace to the person currently prying the doors open. Alison hadn't noticed him at all. She'd thought she was more observant than that.

The strange man wrenched the doors open, jumped down, and strode toward the rear of the car. "I don't know," Alison said. "Back in a tick." She followed.

She poked the grass before stepping onto it—given what she thought had happened, anything might be a trap—and came around the car just in time to see the stranger clambering onto the roof. He bobbed in place, seeming to sight on something, and then pulled himself up and gestured grandly. _"Ohhh—better by far to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly, than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart!"_

Alison stared.

He had a good singing voice, anyway. _"Away to the cheating world go you, where all the pirates are well-to-do . . ."_ He stopped, and then added, speaking, "No, that won't do. I need a baritone. In-charge girl, get me a baritone, would you?"

Alison didn't want to be In-Charge Girl. "What are you doing?"

"Singing." He slid back down the ladder, landing right in front of her, and leaned toward her like an especially ragged preacher earnestly explaining how they put demons into video game systems. "And. I _need._ A baritone."

"Okay," Alison said, "fine, I'll ask." She fled.

Several moments later, she was back outside, helping an extremely bewildered old gentleman up onto the roof of the car, because apparently nothing else would do. "Right, then," said the stranger, and looked at him expectantly.

"What . . . am I supposed to . . ."

_"Sing,_ of course. Unless you're a committee of ducks in a human suit, in which case you're no use to anyone. You aren't, are you?"

"Wha . . ."

"Good. I don't get on with waterfowl. Come on, give us a tune, then."

"I . . . don't know . . ."

_"For I am a pirate king—_ just sing that."

The poor man copied the line in a somewhat cracked voice.

"Excellent! That's enough, we can get down now."

Alison helped the old man down.

"Right, then. You lot—" They had accumulated an audience. "If you've left anything in the car, get it. Now. There ought to be a cave somewhere near here; that can be base camp. In-charge girl—"

There was a ripping noise. Several people screamed.

"Ah, there it goes," the stranger said casually.

The tube car had disappeared.

"Disregard the first bit, then. Where was I? In-charge girl, you and I—"

Alison grabbed the stranger by the shoulders. _"What do you know?"_

The stranger raised a single eyebrow, then stage-whispered, _"Almost everything."_

"No." Alison took her hands off the man. "No, no, let's—let's start at the beginning. Are you human."

"What?" That was from one of the passengers behind Alison.

"Of course not," the stranger said.

_"What?"_ The same voice.

"Okay." Alison took a deep breath. "What do you mean to do with us?"

"Save you."

"So, you're not—"

"In charge of this? Of course I'm not. If I were, I would know why these mountains don't echo."

There was a short silence.

"They don't?" Alison said weakly.

"They don't. Working hypothesis: they're made of something soft enough to absorb the sound waves, like plastic. Why would someone with a time-scoop grab an arbitrary group of humans, plus one, and drop them in something that _resembles_ an earth environment, but has plastic mountains? Working hypothesis—"

"Zoo," Alison said. Her mouth was dry.

"Top of the class."

"So what do we do?"

"We break out. What else? I'm the Doctor, by the way. Would you like a—" He produced a bag from his pocket and gave it a skeptical look. "Chocolate trilobyte? I think?"

"Er, not really—"

"No, me neither. Come along, in-charge girl. Let's have a look at our habitat."

"It's Alison. Alison Mbembe," Alison said, and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who are interested in the story (and hopefully it's at least slightly intriguing) the Doctor and company were going to break out of the zoo, only to discover that various usually-hostile species had been scooped as well and many of them (like the Sontarans and Rutans) were quite happy to resume aggressions in their new environment, so the characters would have to survive that in order to send everyone home. It wasn't a particularly original or inspiring plot, more the sort of thing you would write to get a season moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the female version, done with a male companion just to see how that would work too. As you can tell, not much has changed. The main change is that the companion (now Paul) can serve as the baritone that the Doctor wants, and also becomes "In-Charge Person" rather than "In-Charge Boy," because he's black and that would be all kinds of unfortunate. The energy and eccentricity are about the same.
> 
> For the record, I know that duck quacks _do_ echo, and it's just nearly impossible to hear because of the way the sound falls off. But the "committee of ducks" gag amused me so much that I didn't want to cut it. It's one of those things where the Doctor seems to be talking absolute nonsense, and then you figure out what she was trying to do and you realize it was only _partial_ nonsense, and I like those moments, possibly a little bit too much.
> 
> _____________________________

The tube car sat neatly in the middle of an alpine meadow. Paul looked around at the stunned, frightened faces, heart sinking. He didn't want to be the first one to speak. If he spoke up, people might start to look to him for solutions, and he didn't have any. But he was the only person who didn't seem slightly shocky, and he read enough conspiracy theorists and fringe whackos to have some notion of how much trouble they were in. "All right. Anyone injured?"

The general consensus was a muttered _no,_ with several _where are we's_ in the mix. It wasn't something Paul could answer, so he ignored the questions until a middle aged woman looked alarmed, pointed over her shoulder, and said, "What's _she_ doing?"

Paul turned around and blinked, several times.

If David Bowie's younger, more ginger sister had attempted to dress up as Dracula but somehow ended up in purple velvet, she would bear a haunting resemblace to the person currently prying the doors open. Paul hadn't noticed her at all. He'd thought he was more observant than that.

The strange woman wrenched the doors open, jumped down, and strode toward the rear of the car. "I don't know," Paul said. "Back in a tick." He followed.

He poked the grass before stepping onto it—given what he thought had happened, anything might be a trap—and came around the car just in time to see the stranger clambering onto the roof. She bobbed in place, seeming to sight on something, and then pulled herself up and gestured grandly. _"Ohhh—better by far to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly, than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart!"_

Paul stared.

She had a good singing voice, anyway. _"Away to the cheating world go you, where all the pirates are well-to-do . . ."_ She stopped, and then added, speaking, "No, that won't do. I need a baritone. In-charge person, are you a baritone?"

Paul didn't want to be In-Charge Person. "What are you doing?"

"Singing." She slid back down the ladder, landing right in front of Paul, and leaned toward him like an especially ragged preacher earnestly explaining how they put demons into video game systems. "And. I _need._ A baritone."

"Okay," Paul said, “fine. What do you need me to do?”

"Sing, of course. Unless you're a committee of ducks in a human suit, in which case you're no use to anyone. You aren't, are you?"

"Wha . . ."

"Good. I don't get on with waterfowl. Come on, give us a tune, then."

"I . . . don't know . . ."

_"For I am a pirate king—_ just sing that."

Paul complied, thoroughly lost.

"Excellent! That's enough. Right, then. You lot—" They had accumulated an audience. "If you've left anything in the car, get it. Now. There ought to be a cave somewhere near here; that can be base camp. In-charge person—"

There was a ripping noise. Several people screamed.

"Ah, there it goes," the stranger said casually.

The tube car had disappeared.

"Disregard the first bit, then. Where was I? In-charge person, you and I—"

Paul grabbed the stranger by the shoulders. _"What do you know?"_

The stranger raised a single eyebrow, then stage-whispered, _"Almost everything."_

"No." Paul took his hands off the woman. "No, no, let's—let's start at the beginning. Are you human."

"What?" That was from one of the passengers behind Paul.

"Of course not," the stranger said.

_"What?"_ The same voice.

"Okay." Paul took a deep breath. "What do you mean to do with us?"

"Save you."

"So, you're not—"

"In charge of this? Of course I'm not. If I were, I would know why these mountains don't echo."

There was a short silence.

"They don't?" Paul said weakly.

"They don't. Working hypothesis: they're made of something soft enough to absorb the sound waves, like plastic. Why would someone with a time-scoop grab an arbitrary group of humans, plus one, and drop them in something that resembles an earth environment, but has plastic mountains? Working hypothesis—"

"Zoo," Paul said. His mouth was dry.

"Top of the class."

"So what do we do?"

"We break out. What else? I'm the Doctor, by the way. Would you like a—" She produced a bag from her pocket and gave it a skeptical look. "Chocolate trilobyte? I think?"

"Er, not really—"

"No, me neither. Come along, in-charge person. Let's have a look at our habitat."

"It's Paul. Paul Mbembe," Paul said, and followed.


End file.
